


now the dudes are lining up

by orphan_account



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Humor, M/M, Porn Watching, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:39:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or: 10 Times People Discover Segs Did Amateur Porn and One Time Something Comes of It</p>
            </blockquote>





	now the dudes are lining up

**Author's Note:**

> There are quite a few other people and ships that are mentioned or implied at various points in this fic, but I've only tagged the ones that actually appear. Additionally, people watching amateur porn posted by someone they know (but without that person's knowledge) is not so much a key plot point as the entire plot.
> 
> I have nothing to say for the seriousness of this fic except possibly "no one gets tackled into a lake." Otherwise, many thanks to everyone who helped me brainstorm and everyone who encouraged and enabled during the writing process, especially Bess and Ellie. To everyone else: I'm sorry.
> 
> The title is from Tik Tok. I'm sorry for that too.

**Paul Bissonnette**

So, like, people like what they like, yeah? And Biz has tried enough weird shit in his life to have a pretty good idea of what he doesn’t like, and part of what he doesn’t like is dudes. They’re great as friends and teammates but he just does not give a shit about what they’ve got between their legs.

Which is why it makes no fucking sense at all that this website keeps trying to get him to watch gay porn. He’s watched a fuckton of porn but he’s pretty sure none of it involved two dudes getting jiggy with each other, so it’s a bit annoying that it keeps suggesting that instead of something he’d actually enjoy, like “Hot Brunette Eats Out Hot Blonde.” 

Not that anything’s really doing it for him tonight. He was just looking for a nice orgasm after a shitty game but apparently his dick isn’t going to cooperate. 

Biz is about to close the window when one of the thumbnails catches his eye. Gay shit, of course, because this shitty website has a weird fucking idea of how to do video recommendations, but the tiny thumbnail of a dude looks a bit familiar. 

Naturally, Biz clicks on it, because what else would he do? If he doesn’t recognize the dude, well, it’s not like he was doing anything better, and if he does, it’ll probably be hilarious.

As amateur porn that he’s not even into goes, it’s not too bad. The dude’s hot enough—obviously jailbait, though, which is definitely something Biz can understand the appeal of—and he’s clearly enjoying himself. 

About the time the guy in the video is looks like he’s about to come, Biz puts together where he’s seen him before. It’s that fucking Bruins rookie, Seguin, the one who likes to take his clothes off. Of _course_ he made amateur porn and put it on the internet; Biz probably would’ve done the same if he were a few years younger. He can respect that level of exhibitionism. 

Also, now he knows all the dumb faces Seguin makes during sex, which probably won’t be very useful but is more than hilarious enough to make up for it.

 

**Jeff Skinner**

It’s like, a self-discovery thing, okay? Growing up and maturing and learning more about himself as person. It’s important that he learns shit about himself so that he can like, be self-aware and well-rounded. 

Or something.

Mostly it’s an excuse for watching gay porn.

Well, at first it was to see if he was into it. And then it turned out he was, so he’s learned more about himself and expanded his horizons. Something like that, anyway.

But that’s just how he ended up sitting in a hotel room in Dallas, watching gay porn on his laptop because he didn’t want have any awkward conversations about pay-per-view and he didn’t know how long he’d actually be alone for. It doesn’t _begin_ to explain why he’s staring at someone who looks eerily like Tyler Seguin. 

Jeff really wishes he didn’t have as good an idea of what Seguin’s abs look like as he does, but it’s probably impossible to spend any time with him at all without being exposed to them. And, well. They’re definitely memorable. 

Memorable and _in the porn he’s watching_. That is definitely, absolutely him. With the abs, and the face, and—

Jeff pauses it a little frantically, because it’s one thing to have a minor sexual revelation while watching a teammate dance without his shirt on but it’s something else entirely to watch that same guy get himself off for a camera. Taking a few deep breaths and forcing down the part of him that’s recklessly curious, he closes the window—and his computer, to avoid temptation. 

It doesn’t really work, because he ends up digging the link out of his browser history and watching it about a week later. By the end, he’s a little horrified with himself, a lot turned on, and hoping the part of him that’s still seventeen has been appeased. 

 

**Brad Marchand**

“I dare you to do your best impression of a porno,” the guy says to Brad. He’s, like, a friend of a friend of a friend, or something, Brad honestly has no fucking clue, but apparently he’s decided that Brad’s claim that he makes awesome fake sex noises should be challenged. He’s pretty plastered, honestly. 

Brad isn’t, but he doesn’t mean he can refuse the dare without being a fucking wimp, so he's scrolling through the amateur section of PornHub on someone else's laptop, looking, well. Looking for anything that isn't a _girl_. There—there's a dude, and Brad's never watched another dude jerk off since that one time he opened the hotel room door at the wrong time his rookie year but—

That guy's abs look familiar. Because they look like _Segs's_ abs, what the fuck. He needs to not forget this, because right now everything's funny but he's pretty sure Segs having a porn lookalike will still be fucking hilarious when he's sober. Still, he's not gonna watch that now, it would be too strange. So he keeps scrolling until he finds some other dude—short, with patchy blond chest hair, which isn't a good look on anyone—jerking it and making noises that sound kind of like a dying animal. Brad does a passable imitation, or at least one that's funny enough no one complains or makes him go again, and manages to haul himself out of the apartment and pour himself into a cab.

The next morning, he's got a low-grade hangover and a burning need to find his computer and make sure Segs actually has an eerie porn lookalike. After a couple of cups of coffee and some slightly burned eggs, Brad has his computer on the table and he's scrolling through PornHub without the excuse of being drunk off his ass, which would be pathetic if it weren't—holy _shit_ , that guy looks even more like Segs when he's sober. 

A little gleeful at the prospect of having something this amazing to use against Segs, Brad starts watching.

It’s not especially good porn. The dude’s not doing anything but jerking off, which isn’t all that exciting. Well, maybe it would be more exciting if he were into dick, but he’s not, so he has plenty of time to squint at the grainy face, which looks strikingly like Segs, even in the larger picture. 

Like, it’s getting a little scary how much this guy looks like Segs. Brad’s starting to think it might _be_ Segs. The guy doesn’t do anything exciting, just jerks himself until he comes with a mostly-unsexy grunt, and then leans forward to turn the camera off and—yeah. That’s definitely Segs.

Brad probably ought to feel weirder that he just watched his teammate jerk off. That his teammate made porn. Mostly he feels like laughing, though he’s a little sad he can’t print out pictures of the dude-who-looks-like-Segs to put up in the locker room, since it actually _is_ Segs and that would be beyond the pale. 

No reason he can’t chirp him a bit more privately, at least. Brad glances at the username of the account that posted the video, hopes desperately that it isn’t like, some creepy shit someone posted without telling Segs, and texts Segs _found some porn u wld like check out this sexxxy19 dude_.

Because he’s not a total asshole, he follows it up a few minutes later with _dont worry, wont tell anyone_.

 

**Jeff Carter**

Jeff wakes up to a room that’s spinning slightly, with a splitting headache and a vague memory of getting fucking hammered and watching porn. His laptop is on the floor next to the bed, on a blanket that’s mostly fallen off as well, which means he probably fell asleep with the computer.

His head really fucking hurts. Thinking hurts. 

Jeff grabs the pillow from the other side of the bed and covers his face with it. It doesn’t make the headache go away, but the idea of standing up to get painkillers makes his stomach churn unpleasantly. 

He manages to fall asleep again, and when he wakes up later, his head feels a bit clearer. Not much, but enough that he can start piecing together what he sort-of remembers from the night before. Standing up still feels like a bad idea, though.

Anyway. They lost, because they always fucking lose, because Columbus is a fucking piece of shit team. And Philly won, and LA won, and Jeff fucking hated everything. (He still fucking hates everything.) There’s a mostly empty bottle of tequila on his nightstand, which isn’t a surprise given that he remembers buying it and also doing a lot of shots very quickly. 

After that, everything goes a bit fuzzy. He missed Mike, because he always does, like there’s a piece of him that’s been cut off and—he’s too fucking hungover to be getting poetic or some shit. Usually, when he misses Mike, he ends up watching porn, because. Well. Just because. It helps, except when it makes it worse, but even then it’s a kind of satisfying kind of worse. 

It’s possible he’s still a little drunk. 

There’s a blurry memory drifting around the edges of his mind, not quite clear enough to make out but—something. An almost-familiar face, a low-quality video on his laptop, sex noises. 

Did he watch porn with someone who looks someone he knows? That’s a fucked-up thing to do, even trashed out of his mind. Not that he can remember who the person in the porn looked like. Maybe someone he’s played against a few times? Like that Bruins kid who apparently takes douchey pictures to rival him and Mike. Except—Jeff cuts his thoughts off. 

He could dig it out of his internet history but god, if he’s going to make really creepy choices while he’s plastered, it’s probably better not to remember in the morning. Pulling the pillow back over his head, he briefly considers if he’ll miss anything that matters if he just goes back to sleep and then remembers it’s fucking Columbus. There isn’t actually anything that matters. 

He’s asleep pretty quickly, and when he wakes up he’s that many hours closer to maybe getting to leave someday. It’s not a hopeful thought but then, Jeff doesn’t feel especially fucking hopeful. 

 

**Shea Weber**

Shea isn’t moping. He’s not. Mostly because he’s too fucking pissed to mope, but still, he’s not moping. He’s fucking pissed and fucking _horny_ , and he’s going to watch some porn about guys who look nothing at fucking all like Ryan Suter, because Ryan Suter is an asshole, and it’s going to be _great_. 

It is great, too. Well, until he finds himself squinting at one of the guys—medium-tall, built, nice cheekbones and a great mouth—and wondering if he doesn’t look a little familiar. It’s an amateur solo thing, just a guy jerking it and—oh, jesus, he’s fingering himself too. His mouth is bitten red and he’s panting and Shea is more into this than he expected. Jailbait has never been his thing, but this kid is really hot. He can look past it. 

He’s fisting his own dick loosely, matching pace with the boy on the screen, when he places the face.

Horrified, Shea yanks his hand out of his pants and closes his laptop fast enough that he’ll have to check later that he didn’t break anything. For now, he zips back up, ignoring his suddenly-less-interested dick, and tries to purge the image of Tyler Seguin jerking off from his memory, because that’s _really_ not what he wants to be thinking about next time they play the Bruins. 

 

**Taylor Hall**

It's not like this is the first time Ebby has walked in on him watching porn, or even the second or third. He forgets to lock the door a lot, and Ebby has a habit of leaving his gear in Taylor's room. But usually, he just says "whoops, sorry dude" and closes the door.

This time, he does neither, and for just a moment, Taylor wonders if Ebby is actually going to make a move. But instead, Ebby just squints at the screen and asks, "Dude, is that Tyler Seguin?"

Oh. _Oh._ That's where he knows the guy in the video from.

Taylor doesn’t really have anything to say that, because, like, _holy shit he is_ , and it’s not like he can just admit he didn’t recognize the dude; if he does that, Ebby will actually never shut up about it, and he’ll probably tell the whole team, and it would probably be even worse than the stairs incident. 

“Uh, I guess?” he tries, because the silence is getting heavy and Ebby is probably going to start jumping to conclusions soon.

Ebby looks a bit uncomfortable. He’s shifting from foot to foot and not making eye contact with Taylor but he’s not leaving either.

“Um,” he says eventually. “Isn’t that a bit weird?”

Which—it is _now_. Taylor shrugs, which hopefully makes Ebby think he’s just so cool about stuff that he doesn’t care that he’s watching porn of a guy he knows. 

“Do you want to watch?” he asks, because this is already the weirdest, most awkward conversation he’s ever had in his life, so what’s the point in trying not to be weird and awkward? Besides, Ebby hasn’t run screaming out of the room yet. He’s staring at Taylor like Taylor just said something really strange. Which is probably because Taylor _did_. 

“Uh,” Ebby says, and then, “Okay,” because he is seriously the greatest person Taylor has ever known. He shoulders Taylor over and squeezes onto the bed next to him, their thighs pressed together. Taylor tries not to focus on the contact, and fixes his eyes on the screen instead.

"Start it from the beginning," Ebby says, pushing his thigh harder against Taylor's, and Taylor tries not to swallow his tongue as he does it. He's focused on not staring at Ebby, not paying more attention to him than to the porn, where the guy—Seguin—is jerking himself off, well-defined abs working slightly. 

It's a surprise when he feels Ebby's hand on his leg, and it makes him suck in a sharp breath. He squeezes, and Taylor is definitely more focused on not hyperventilating than anything Seguin is doing to himself. By the time that Ebby's hand has moved to Taylor's dick, he's completely forgotten that there was porn at all until he kicks the computer off the bed when he's crawling around like an idiot to get on his stomach between Ebby's legs and suck him off. 

And then Ebby sucks him off and then they're both flopped bonelessly on Taylor's bed and it's all worked out better than Taylor could possibly have dreamt. 

 

**Tyler Brown**

Segs is in Switzerland and Tyler—Tyler _isn’t moping_ , he’s really not. He’s not moping and he’s not pining and he’s not sulking. He just misses his best friend, which is a totally normal feeling. It’s maybe less normal that he’s missing his friend this pointedly while half-heartedly watching amateur porn videos of guys jerking themselves off but what the fuck ever, he’s an adult and it’s his business. 

He’s a few videos in and, honestly lonelier than he is turned on, when he clicks on one where the guy looks strikingly like Segs. It’s not the first time he’s run across a guy who reminds him of Segs in porn, but this is way more striking than the other times. It’s striking to the point that Tyler ends up clicking back to the beginning of the video to squint at it more closely. 

It—it might actually be Segs. God knows he’s enough of an exhibitionist to put a video of himself jerking off on the internet—or, oh, a video of him jerking off _while fingering himself_. Tyler wishes he weren’t watching this. 

Well. Mostly he wishes he weren’t so into it. Because holy fuck, Segs looks hot. He usually looks hot, really, but in the video he’s flushed and panting and has three fingers in his ass and—Tyler misses him so badly it hurts. He misses goofing around and playing video games and napping together and somehow, impossibly, he misses having Segs spread out naked in his bed, gasping and desperate. 

Misses, wants, _something_. 

God, he’s just as gone on Segs as everyone has always said, isn’t he? It’s not even really a surprise, just a dully stinging recognition of something it feels like he’s known all along. Mostly, it just makes him miss Segs even more than he did before. 

It’s not like they’ve never spent long periods of time without seeing each other, but usually they’re close enough that they can do what his teammates call “dumb codependent shit” like texting each other right before bed to say good night. They still do it, and about as often as they did when Segs was in the same time zone, but it’s not the same to get Segs’s text in the early evening rather than when he’s curled up in bed, about to sleep. Less comforting. It makes him feel like they’re out of sync. 

He ends up jerking off to the video of Segs, and then feeling like kind of a creep about it. He just … watched Segs _finger himself_ and unless he says something, Segs will never know. Tyler supposes you don’t put porn on the internet unless you’re okay with the voyeuristic aspect of people watching you without your consent but he feels weird about it anyway. It doesn’t quench the desire to watch Segs finger himself while he’s splayed across Tyler’s bed, either. 

Tyler bookmarks the video, just in case, and goes to bed with memories of Segs swirling around his mind. Before he passes out, he sends a quick “good night” texts, and then follows it up with one that says “and good morning to you when you read it.”

It helps a little, with the feeling of being disconnected.

 

**Dougie Hamilton & Malcolm Subban**

When Malcolm sends him the link, Dougie clicks on it immediately, because he likes porn and Malcolm knows his taste—he _should_ , given all the awesome sex they’re having—and makes it less than a minute into the video. At that point, he makes a horrible choked noise and closes the tab frantically, feeling himself turn bright red. 

“You okay?” Malcolm asks, his voice distorted slightly by the Skype connection and shitty microphones. 

“ _That’s Segs_ ,” Dougie hisses, desperately hoping that Segs himself hasn’t come home in the last half hour, while he’s been too distracted Skyping Malcolm to notice. 

"Shit, are you serious?" Malcolm looks a bit stricken, which he really deserves. "I just thought it looked like him."

"No," Dougie says. "That's definitely him, I've seen his abs enough times to recognize them in a shitty home video." 

It's hard to tell on the video call if Malcolm is uncomfortable or about to start laughing, and Dougie fucking hates him. Well, not really, but now he's seen Segs jerking it and that's just more than anyone should know about their roommate. And also—why is there is a video of Segs jerking off on the internet? He asks Malcolm that, and Malcolm just shrugs.

"I don't know, he seems like he'd be into it." 

Dougie wants to pour bleach on his memory so he can forget the last ten minutes, because he already knew _way_ too much about Segs's sex life. Malcolm has a point, though. If he were going to pick anyone to have put amateur porn on the internet, it would probably be Segs. 

“We’re—we’re never talking about this again,” Dougie says. “It’s too weird. I don’t want to ever think about it again.” 

Malcolm laughs at him, but agrees. “You’re still game for other porn, though, right?” he says, grinning, and Dougie nods enthusiastically. 

“Just nothing with my roommate in it,” he says.

Of course, that’s the moment that Segs announces his presence by yelling “Hey rookie, we’re going out, are you coming?” at the top of his lungs. The idea of spending a lot of time with Segs—probably, with drunk, handsy Segs—makes Dougie’s stomach sink. But he ought to go, doing shit with the team is important and he always goes, it would make people suspicious if he didn’t. 

Well, at least he doesn’t have a boner anymore. 

“Good luck,” Malcolm says, because he’s a bastard. Dougie has no idea why they’re dating at all. 

When he says as much, Malcolm blows a kiss at the camera obnoxiously and says “You know you love me, now go and hang out with your pornstar teammate.”

Dougie hangs up, texting him _fuck you_ while he scrambles to find a pair of pants and yells to Segs that he’s on his way down. 

 

**PK Subban & Carey Price**

He and Malcolm exchange emails pretty regularly—a few times a week, generally—and it’s not unusual for them to be short things, just a subject line of “awesome video!!!” or “watch this asap!!!!!” and then a link in the body. That’s what PK’s expecting, anyway, when he opens the one that’s just popped up on the screen. 

It’s—not. It’s very much not. First of all, the opening line of the actual email says “DON’T WATCH THIS IN PUBLIC,” which really should have been enough reason for PK to stop reading there. He doesn’t, because if he were in the habit of making choices that were in his best interest, he wouldn’t have a job that includes getting hit in the head a lot. 

The rest of the email says, “dude you won’t believe what Dougie and I found last night. HIS ROOMMATE DID PORN.” And then there’s a link, presumably to the porn. 

Well, Malcolm’s linked him to stranger things. 

PK clicks the link, because why the hell not. It’s clearly an amateur thing, some guy angling himself a little awkwardly and jerking off in front of a camera that’s not moving. After a few seconds of mostly abs and dick, the guy starts squirming around and his face comes into view, and—holy _shit_. 

That’s Tyler Seguin. 

Naked and jerking himself off.

Well, if he’d had to put money on anyone in the NHL making amateur porn, it would have been Seguin. Maybe Bissonnette, but probably Seguin. Regardless, Malcolm is right; this is kind of fucking hilarious. 

“Carey!” he yells, because he’s a nice person and he’s going to share the wealth. 

“What?!” Carey yells back, because he’s lazy as fuck when he wants to be, and he probably doesn’t want to get up and walk into the other room. 

“Come watch this video Malcolm sent me!”

Carey’s groan is audible, probably because he’s seen the videos that Malcolm sends people. PK’s about to yell that this one is worth it, not like the weird music videos it’s been the last couple of times, when he feels Carey rest his chin on top of his head. “Fine,” Carey says. “Show me.”

PK starts the video from the beginning. Carey punches him lightly in the shoulder when it becomes clear that it’s porn. “If you want to watch a guy with nice abs jerk off, that’s what you have me for, dumbass.” 

“Keep watching,” PK says, because it shouldn’t be much longer until—

“What the fuck, is that Tyler Seguin?” Carey says. 

“Yes,” PK says, moving the cursor towards the pause button.

“No, wait, keep going.” Carey sounds almost—intrigued? It’s funny, in a kind of grossly predictable way, but PK doesn’t actually want to watch Seguin get himself off. 

“Uh,” PK starts, but Carey cuts him off. 

“Shut up, this is kinda hot.”

And, well. Once PK turns off the part of his brain screaming that this is someone he’s played against, someone he’s going to play against again, it kind of is. Seguin is flushed, breathing heavily, jerking himself off slowly like testing himself. Behind him, PK can feel Carey’s breath shifting as well, and he’s starting to think about ignoring the video to drag Carey back into the bedroom. 

Luckily for him, Carey has the same idea. As soon as Seguin comes all over himself—emphatically not something PK thought he would ever see—Carey hauls him out of the chair and pushes him out of the room. 

“I have some ideas,” Carey says, and PK grins.

“As long as there aren’t any farm animals.”

“Fuck off.”

“Well, if you insist, I guess you can just watch Seguin jerk off. I’ll go watch TV—”

“You’re an asshole,” Carey says, and kisses him. 

 

**Patrick Kane**

He’s not _deliberately_ looking for porn of medium-tall brown-haired guys, it just kind of keeps happening. He watched a couple and then he watched a couple more, just because they were there and like, they get him off, okay? Hot guys are hot, there’s nothing more to it. 

The point is that he’s a little drunk and he wants to jerk off, and that’s the only reason he clicks on the video of a dude jerking himself off that’s posted by someone called _sexyyy19_. The. Only. Reason. 

It’s not actually very interesting; all the guy is doing is jerking himself off. Patrick was hoping he’d at least finger himself to make it more fun to watch, but he’s out of luck. Still, it’s something to get him started, so he shoves his boxers down and gets a loose hand around his dick. By the time the guy in the video comes, with a noise that isn’t exactly sexy, Patrick’s hard and dumb enough with it to be sad the video is over. The guy was hot, even if he didn’t make very exciting porn, so Patrick clicks on his username to see if he’s made anything else. 

There’s a couple of others, and he clicks on one that has a slightly clearer thumbnail. It’s better right from the beginning; a nicer angle and a clearer video. It’s enough to make Patrick focus on the guy’s face for a moment and—that’s Segs. That’s definitely Segs. He knows what Segs looks like when he’s jerking off, because Segs takes locking doors about as seriously as Patrick does, and. That is definitely Segs. 

He can tell it’s Segs now, but this video is _way_ hotter than the first one. Segs is fingering himself and the noises aren’t dumb anymore, they’re hot. Or maybe they just seem hotter because Patrick’s so much more turned on, but it doesn’t matter. He wanted to jerk off and he’s found good porn to do it to and whatever, if he feels creepy about it in the morning he’ll deal then. He probably won’t, anyway. 

(He doesn’t feel creepy in the morning, but he doesn’t watch any of it again and he doesn’t tell Segs about it either.)

**\----**

**Tyler Seguin (But Not Really, Since He Already Knew About It)**

Tyler probably ought to check his email again, like, ever. He can’t actually remember the last time he did, because people usually text him if it’s urgent (and then call when he doesn’t answer the texts). But the couch is super comfortable and Marshall’s asleep with his head in Tyler’s lap and his computer is all the way in his room. 

Opening one eye blearily, Tyler realizes that Brownie’s computer is sitting on the coffee table. Brownie went to—Tyler thinks he said the grocery store, but honestly his memory is a little fuzzy, he was more asleep than not when Brownie left. It doesn’t matter, it’s not like he’ll care if Tyler uses his shit. He never has before. 

So Tyler grabs the laptop and balances it carefully on the knee Marshall isn’t using, flipping it open and guessing Brownie’s password on the first try. There’s a browser already open, so he pulls it up and opens a new tab, which gives him a selection of websites Brownie apparently visits frequently. 

Glancing over them quickly, he Tyler realizes that one looks like PornHub. He clicks on it, of course, because he can’t resist snooping on what Brownie watches and then being able to chirp him for it later. 

Only it doesn’t take him to the homepage or some specific video, it takes him to the list of videos that—

Holy _shit_. Tyler stares at the screen, because he must be hallucinating or something. That’s. That’s the list of videos he posted years ago, the ones he never bothered to take down because they’re terrible quality and not many people ever watched them anyway. But apparently “not many people” includes his best friend. 

Tyler honestly has no idea how to react. There’s no way Brownie doesn’t know it’s him; the videos are shitty quality but his face is clearly visible.

He should have taken them down when he got drafted, but it never happened and then it had been so long that he was sure nothing would ever happen. And nothing ever did, except when Marchy found them, and evidently his best friend watching them. A lot.

Tyler closes the tab and the computer, setting it back on the table and trying to decide how he feels. It’s not exactly funny, because it’s _Brownie_ watching porn _of him_. He didn’t even know Brownie was into dudes. They’ve gone out and picked up so many times, and he’s only ever picked up girls. 

Though, in fairness, so has Tyler. 

He shakes his head like it’ll help make sense of anything and gently slides Marshall’s head off his leg. Going for a run will help. 

\--

Going for a run doesn’t really help, and when he gets back, Brownie is standing in front of the stove, stirring something with one hand and scratching behind Marshall’s ears with the other. 

It’s—Tyler just really likes him. Best friends and stuff. It’s always nice to have this in the summers, the two of them and Marshall and lots of time with no real obligations to just enjoy each other’s company. Tyler works on improving his limited culinary skills and Brownie laughs at him and then tries to salvage edible meals from the attempts, and then they fall asleep together watching terrible movies. 

That’s more or less what happens when Tyler gets back from his run. He showers, because Brownie won’t snuggle with him otherwise, and then gets dragged into the kitchen to be shown how to cook some sort of casserole thing. Brownie thinks he and Freddy eat too much takeout, and that they’re going to ruin Dougie or something. He called them lost causes when he visited in the spring, but said that they should give the rookie a chance of being able to feed himself properly. 

The food turns out pretty good, mostly because Tyler was barely allowed to touch it, and they eat in front of the TV. Tyler leaves a careful distance between them, a deliberate few inches between their thighs because he still doesn’t know what to do with the information that Brownie watched videos of him jerking off. Brownie doesn’t say anything about it, but he doesn’t close the distance either, and Tyler feels the distance almost as much as he felt it when were on opposite sides of the Atlantic. 

They don’t talk much, but partway through the movie, Tyler feels Brownie’s head hit his shoulder; when he glances over, Brownie is clearly asleep, his breath warm and soft against Tyler’s collarbone. It’s nice. 

Eventually, Tyler rouses him and guides him into his bedroom, an arm wrapped around his waist and his head still resting against Tyler’s shoulder. When he climbs into his own bed, he can still feel where his side is warm from Brownie pressed against him, sleepy and clingy. 

Lying in bed, drowsy but not quite asleep, it’s hard to keep himself from thinking the thing he’s been avoiding all afternoon—people watch porn to jerk off. If Brownie just wanted to see Tyler’s face, they could Skype, or there are a thousand dumb videos of Tyler on the internet. But he’s watching _porn_. That must mean he’s—that he’s jerking off to videos of Tyler jerking off. 

_Jesus_. 

Before Tyler can stop himself, he’s got a picture of it in his head. Brownie, in front of his laptop, biting his lip with one hand down his boxers as he watches Tyler jerk off. Tyler’s cock twitches at the thought. Fuck, that would be—pretty fucking hot, actually. Brownie jerking himself, matching Tyler’s speed in the video, biting on his lip to keep from making any noise. 

Tyler shoves his own boxers down, and it’s maybe two dry strokes of his hand before he’s fully hard and having to bite his lip. He tries to hold the picture of Brownie getting off to the video of Tyler in his head, but it blurs and shifts and then he’s thinking about Brownie curling against him on the sofa and then—Brownie crowding over him, grinning and reaching down to grab Tyler’s dick. 

He comes thinking about Brownie jerking him off and pinning his wrists above his head, and barely stays awake long enough to wipe himself off with a Kleenex. 

\--

The next morning, it takes Tyler a few minutes to wake up enough that he remembers, but once he does, the memory is vivid and, well. He’s never really thought about Brownie like that, but it’s hardly the first time he’s been into a dude and it makes a lot of sense. They’ve been basically married but without sex for years, Tyler’s heard it from his entire family and Brownie’s to boot. 

Would it be weird, if he said something? It’s not like he doesn’t have good reason to think Brownie would be into it and he’s definitely into the idea of getting sex to go along with his cooking lessons and cuddling. 

Tyler scrubs his hands across his face and climbs out of bed, drowsily bushing his teeth before he stumbles into the kitchen in a probably-clean pair of boxers to make coffee. He’s leaning against the counter and watching it brew when Brownie comes in and knocks his hip against Tyler’s as a greeting. 

“Morning,” Tyler mumbles. 

“Morning, babe,” Brownie says, blinking like he’s still mostly asleep. It’s—it’s cute. It makes Tyler want to kiss him on the cheek and press up against his side. Snuggling up against him wouldn’t be weird, anyway, so Tyler does it, taking a moment to gauge Brownie’s reaction. It’s a good reaction; Brownie leans into him a bit, warm and comfortable and familiar. 

Later, when they’re sitting at the counter together, drinking coffee and eating fried eggs, Tyler decides he ought to say something. He gulps down some of his coffee, which isn’t exactly like vodka in terms of liquid courage but it’s first thing in the morning, and he does have some standards. 

“I borrowed your computer yesterday,” he says without preamble. Brownie just blinks at him, mouth full of egg. “And I kind of … clicked on the porn site that was in your favorites,” Tyler continues. 

Brownie swallows quickly, looking a bit stricken. “Oh, um—”

“I don’t mind,” Tyler cuts in. “If it had been me, I would have done the same thing.”

“You would have watched porn of yourself? I knew you were full of it, Segs, but I didn’t—”

“Shut up, asshole, I’m trying to make a declaration here.” 

Brownie grins at him, which is a huge improvement from the stricken expression. “You would, though.”

Tyler shrugs. “I’m hot, you know it.” 

“I do,” Brownie says, leering a bit. 

“I would watch porn of you, okay?” He says it a little too fast, but Brownie knew what he meant all along and he’s all smiles and friendly ribbing. Tyler’s pretty sure this is going to work out. 

Brownie’s smile drops and now he looks serious. Not bad—mostly normal, given how little he smiles—but serious. His eyes are solemn when he leans toward Tyler. 

“Yeah?”

Tyler swallows, because Brownie’s not breaking eye contact and it’s a little overwhelming, and nods. “Yeah.” 

And then they’re kissing and—it’s nice. It’s really nice. It’s why-haven’t-we-been-doing-this-since-juniors nice, Brownie’s hand against the side of his neck and Tyler swiping his tongue across Brownie’s lips until they open. The kiss lingers, never getting especially dirty, and by the end of it, Tyler’s worked one of his hands up into Brownie’s hair and is trying to pull him in closer. 

His lips are tingling when Brownie finally pulls away. “Segs, this isn’t—I,” he starts, visibly uncomfortable. They’re so close Tyler can feel the words against his lips. 

“We’re not just fucking around,” he says. “I couldn’t—not with you.” 

Brownie’s face does something—an expression that Tyler’s never seen before, which is unusual at this point. It’s nice, though, like Tyler’s said the best thing he’s ever heard or something. He basically doesn’t have a choice in hopping off his chair, taking the tiny step so that he’s between Brownie’s legs, and kissing him hard. 

There’s intent behind this one, teeth and tongues and an arm around Tyler’s back pulling him as close as he can get. He’s breathing hard they break apart, and Brownie’s lips are strikingly red. Tyler wants to bite them. And see them wrapped around his dick. 

He puts on his best leer. “Do you want a private show of what you’ve been watching?” he asks, but he’s struggling to keep a straight face. It probably ruins the effectiveness of the leer. 

Brownie laughs at him. It makes Tyler want to kiss him. “I’d rather help,” he says, slipping off his chair and pressing Tyler against the counter to kiss him again. 

Tyler pushes him away, and Brownie looks stricken for a moment before Tyler kisses him quickly and mutters “Bedroom” against his lips. 

Getting to the bedroom involves a lot of kissing and touching and Brownie’s got his hand on Tyler’s ass under his boxers before they even make it up the stairs, which isn’t making Tyler want to do anything but push him onto the floor and just go for it there. They do eventually make it, a few bumps and several hickeys worse off, and Brownie pushes Tyler down onto his bed and stares at him. 

It’s—he’s looking at Tyler like he’s _edible_ and Christ but Tyler is into it. He’s been mostly hard since Brownie pushed him into the counter, and now he’s visibly tenting his boxers and Brownie is just staring. 

“Fuck, Segs,” he whispers. Tyler’s been told he’s hot before—a lot—but it’s different when it’s Brownie. Tyler squirms out of his boxers, because they’re just going to get in the way and he thinks having his dick out might encourage Brownie to actually _get on with it_. 

It works, and then Brownie’s pressing Tyler into the mattress and kissing him again. Their hips are more or less lined up, and Tyler keeps rocking up against him, feeling the press of Brownie’s dick through his boxers. The headiness of it is making it difficult for Tyler to focus on anything else. It’s a struggle to pull his mouth away from Brownie’s, but worth it for his expression when Tyler says, “Can I suck you off?”

The noise Brownie makes sounds like it might have started off as “fuck” somewhere and got turned into a groan along the way, but he’s crawling off Tyler and flopping onto his back. “How do you…?” he asks, gesturing vaguely with one hand. 

“On your back, knees up,” Tyler says. “And spread your legs.”

Brownie rolls his eyes. “I’d figured that one out, thanks.” 

Tyler ignores him in favor of taking his boxers off. Having a mouth on his dick probably will make him less of a smart-ass. 

It does, though Tyler’s not exactly able to make snappy comebacks either. Brownie’s just moaning and clutching at Tyler’s hair and clearly trying not to move his hips, which is sweet even if Tyler wouldn’t mind so much. He moans when Brownie pulls almost too hard at his hair, and Brownie’s hips jerk, pushing his dick against Tyler’s throat. Tyler tries not to hump the bed too obviously, but must fail, because Brownie says, “Fuck, you’re into that,” and comes without warning down Tyler’s throat. 

Pulling off, he presses a sloppy kiss on Brownie’s hip and crawls up the bed to kiss him on the lips. He comes not much later, his face pressed into Brownie’s shoulder and Brownie’s hand on his dick, and he dozes off there. 

When Tyler wakes up, it’s not much later but he’s not-sticky enough that it’s clear Brownie cleaned him up. There’s a glass of water on the nightstand and Brownie’s still in the bed, dicking around on his phone. Tyler rolls over to kiss him on the shoulder. 

“Hi,” Brownie says, and then, “We should watch that porn of yours together sometime.” 

Tyler laughs and tries to push him out of the bed. It doesn’t work, because the angle is terrible and he has no leverage, but it gets the point across. Brownie kisses him on forehead, teasing, and then on the lips, with enough intent that Tyler decides to just go with it. 

It worked out pretty well for him when he did that earlier, might as well try it again.

**Author's Note:**

> And then they totally watch Segs's porn together and it's really hot the end.
> 
> All the apologies at the beginning of this were lies, I'm not actually sorry for any of it.


End file.
